little fellow. He used to say that all good detective work was a
mere matter of method. My system is based on his--though of
course I have progressed rather further. He was a funny little
man, a great dandy, but wonderfully clever."

"Like a good detective story myself," remarked Miss Howard.
"Lots of nonsense written, though. Criminal discovered in last
chapter. Every one dumbfounded. Real crime--you'd know at
once."

"There have been a great number of undiscovered crimes," I
argued.

"Don't mean the police, but the people that are right in it. The
family. You couldn't really hoodwink them. They'd know."

"Then," I said, much amused, "you think that if you were mixed up
in a crime, say a murder, you'd be able to spot the murderer
right off?"

"Of course I should. Mightn't be able to prove it to a pack of
lawyers. But I'm certain I'd know. I'd feel it in my fingertips
if he came near me."

"It might be a 'she,' " I suggested.

"Might. But murder's a violent crime. Associate it more with a
man."

"Not in a case of poisoning." Mrs. Cavendish's clear voice